_Pemberton:_
Our men are watching something. It is something moving. Horsemen--it
must be.

(The excitement grows and grows. IRETON joins PEMBERTON.)

_Ireton:_
There is something.

_Fairfax:_
Gentlemen, let us promise ourselves nothing.

(IRETON and PEMBERTON move into the tent at FAIRFAX'S word. As they do
so the voices outside break out into a great
shout--"_Ironsides--Ironsides--Ironsides is coming to lead us!_" The
scout comes in, glowing.)

_Fairfax_
(rising):
Yes?

_The Scout:_
General Cromwell is riding into the field with his Ironsides, sir, some
six hundred strong.

_Fairfax:_
Thank God!

(CROMWELL comes into the tent, fully armed, hot and dusty from the road.
The shouting dies away, but outside there is a sound as of new life